


Sigh No More

by Eatsscissors



Category: Much Ado About Nothing - Shakespeare
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2007-12-18
Updated: 2007-12-18
Packaged: 2018-01-25 06:09:55
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,229
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1635713
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Eatsscissors/pseuds/Eatsscissors
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Before the events of the play, Beatrice and Benedick meet and begin their enmity.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Sigh No More

**Author's Note:**

> Written for hullfire

 

 

TITLE: Sigh No More

RATING: PG-13

SUMMARY: Before the events of the play, Beatrice and Benedick meet and begin their enmity.

Beatrice supposed that he could be considered handsome, if a maid was the sort to be turned by flashing arrogant eyes and a mouth that seemed to be permanently fixed into a smirk. The dark shadow of a beard had only begun to grow steadily over his cheeks a few years before. Beatrice remembered seeing him for the first time then, hanging around the soldiers and listening to their proud, bawdy talk. Her breasts had still been but chestnuts, her forehead marked with spots more often than not, and Benedick had clearly been a young man with an eye for apples. Oh, Beatrice remembered him well.

"I don't like him," she declared.

Margaret made a hmming noise from the back of her throat. Beatrice thought that she was only a few steps away from smothering a laugh against the back of her hand. It wouldn't do to laugh openly at one's social betters; Beatrice knew from her younger days of roaming through the servants' quarters at will that these opinions were reserved for private. It would be better if she spoke to her cousin if she was determined to speak freely, but Hero was still too young.

"My lady has quite a strong opinion of a man that she has never formally met," Margaret managed. She darted Beatrice a sideways look from beneath her lashes as she said it.

A grin tugged at the edges of Beatrice's mouth before she smothered it and gave her hair a haughty toss. "Hardly a man," she declared. "I still think that he draws on his beard. Though, with the way that he eats, he will no doubt reach a man's girth soon enough."

Margaret made another one of those curiously stifled humming noises. Her cheeks were glowing when Beatrice looked her way again.

"Oh, do shut up," Beatrice snapped crossly, and strode ahead of Margaret into Leonato's house. Three men of the Watch were loitering by the door in preparation of the gathering sundown and whatever drunken miscreants it would bring. The leader of them-Beatrice wanted to chance that his name was Dogberry or something similar-tugged at his forelock as Beatrice and Margaret strode past him.

"A most odiferous evening to both of your ladyships," he said to them.

Beatrice paused in mid-step and felt her brow furrow as she struggled to work out the mechanics of that particular sentence. "Yes," she managed finally before continuing on her way. "And to yourself, as well."

The table was set with dishes and nearly all of the seats were taken by the time that Beatrice and Margaret took their places. Beatrice began cursing Fate as soon as she saw the person who was sitting across the table from her.

"Lady Beatrice," Benedick greeted her, accompanying it with a slight inclination of his head. He managed to make it into a gesture both enticing and faintly mocking at the same time, and Beatrice felt color rising in her cheeks. "You nearly missed your supper." Scarcely had Beatrice slipped into the seat than servants had finished bringing the food to the table.

"And would have gone hungry all the night long," Beatrice agreed before she accepted her wine and raised the glass to her lips. She scarcely let a drop wash across her tongue before she was setting it back down again. Beatrice had a mind that the color was already standing high enough in her cheeks as it was.

"You look as though you've worked up quite the appetite," Beatrice continued in a tone so sweet that even little Hero a few seats down turned her head to look. Benedick, it was rumored, had been creeping into the orchard with the daughter of a saddlemaker earlier that afternoon, and that the two of them had crept out some time later with the evidence of hard riding about them. Beatrice assured herself that she did not care.

Was that a flush, crawling up Lord Benedick's neck until it tainted his cheek? Beatrice could not tell; the youngling stretch of beard concealed much of his skin. But the light in his eyes was no longer strictly amused.

"Vigorous movement is good for both the body and the soul, dear maid Beatrice," he said to her before he raised his own goblet to his mouth. The ways that his lips touched at the rim seemed to carry with them a promise. Beatrice stubbornly refused to allow this realization to show on her face.

"You must be in fine health, then," she said to him. "I wonder that the prince has not come to such a conclusion himself yet, and that you have not risen further?"

The meat arrived, and under Benedick's glare Beatrice began to eat her share with gusto.

*

Harvest time would be upon them within a few more weeks. While the mellow glow of summer still presided over the evening air, Beatrice could feel the first nip of fall moving closer. Soon everything that had been born in the spring would be called upon to die until spring came again. Beatrice rubbed her hands against the light skirts that she wore during summer weather and thought sourly of the heavy wool that would constrict her soon. Snow rarely fell this far south, but the wind would still be chill enough to drive most people inside to huddle about their hearths until green came again. Beatrice was not yet ready to resign herself to months of being chained down to the earth again, and wanted to drink up as much of the outside sky as she could first.

"Taking a walk, Beatrice?"

The male voice made Beatrice jump out of habit, but she had collected herself enough to control the gesture by the time that she turned. Ah. Her paramour of the stitched-on beard. Hardly a man at all, then.

Beatrice's blood wanted to tell her otherwise. She did her best to ignore it.

"I enjoy the moon," she said, and could have bitten off the tip of her tongue once she heard the words on the air. A maid walking her grounds alone would do well to avoid giving any man that she ran across reason to think of a female's reputation for inconstancy. That Beatrice did not like the custom did not mean that she was not still required to abide by it. To a point.

Benedick's mouth moved into a smile. That, at least, was still clearly visible in spite of the hair that had come to obscure his lower face. "I thought that perhaps you had come out seeking a bit of exercise," he replied.

That damned moon was surely picking up the hot flush of blood in Beatrice's cheeks and along the top of her bosom, and Beatrice wished that she could pluck it from the sky. Benedick made a small stirring motion towards Beatrice, no doubt smothering a joke in the back of his throat. Beatrice remembered well his preference for larger fruit than she could claim to possess.

"You forget that you are speaking to a lady," Beatrice informed Benedick in stiff and ringing tones. "Save such language for those who are paid to enjoy your company, and may you hazard any parting gifts that they bestow upon you."

Benedick paused midway through opening his mouth; Beatrice found that she was most unshocked to learn that Benedick had been schooling his reply even before Beatrice had finished speaking. She saw his eyes widen as he realized what she had actually said and, when a slight downward glance on Beatrice's part confirmed it, broke into a peal of delighted laughter.

"Beatrice," he said to her. Beatrice was so momentarily surprised by Benedick's amusement that she did not pull away when Benedick reached out and took her hand. It was warm and callused. He had been keeping up his practice with a sword, and even after it occurred to her to pull away Beatrice did not do so. "I meant no ill when I asked you if you enjoyed walking in the moonlight. A maiden need have nothing to be ashamed of if she should have a strong constitution." The wickedness of Benedick's grin belied the surface innocence of his words.

Beatrice opened her mouth so that she could send back her rejoinder, only to find it abruptly stopped up with a kiss. She stiffened, put her hand against his chest in a preliminary effort to push him away, and found herself being drawn in all the same on a soft sigh. Benedick was an able kisser, making her blood run fast and hot in her veins, and Beatrice found that she was soon beginning to sink forward again. Benedick had his hand about her waist for only a few seconds before it began to move upwards.

It turned out that he had a taste for many different kinds of fruit.

Beatrice made another soft sound and leaned further against Benedick as his thumb traced idly over her nipple until it had risen into a point beneath the fabric. His mouth was making her forget herself, the one thing that a maid could never afford to do. When Benedick's other hand found her rear, and apparently quite to his satisfaction, she found herself with nowhere else to go.

"Stop," Beatrice said finally, putting her hand against Benedick's chest and pushing him away. Benedick made a reluctant noise but complied, only resting his forehead against Beatrice's for a moment before he complied. "I am a maid."

"I have never understood the damned importance that women place on that," Benedick murmured. His voice was making Beatrice want to forget why she placed such importance on it, herself. "I do not care how many times you have visited this orchard with exertion in mind, Beatrice."

"You have the room to disregard such concerns," Beatrice told him. A cross note entered her voice, mirror to her thoughts.

Benedick sighed and rolled his eyes heavenward. If he was asking the moon why she was behaving in such a fashion, Beatrice wanted to tell him, then he was not winning back nearly as much of her favor as he had hoped. "Yes, the great freedom of men to abuse women at their will," he said. "It was hardly maidenly, dear Beatrice, the way that you had your tongue in my-" Beatrice raised her hand to slap him, only to be stopped by Benedick grabbing her wrist. "I have never known a woman who appreciated the power that she has," he told her in an annoyed tone. "A gentleman could never possibly strike you, yet you may call your own aggression womanly hysterics any time that you choose."

"You overestimate the advantages that a maid may actually claim. As I see no gentlemen here, I should best retire." Beatrice began to shove her way past Benedick, only to be stopped by his hand upon her arm. He moved it down to cup at her elbow within a second, but that faint and mocking smile did not leave his face.

"You should be wary of your temper, my lady," Benedick told her. Pitched low in what Beatrice presumed was an effort to keep their conversation safe from prying ears, his voice was a rumble that she had to strain in order to hear at all. Beatrice bit at her lower lip so that she could keep her breath from quickening. "You are very fair to be possessed of such a fury."

"And you would do well to restrain your desires," Beatrice told him in a voice that would have turned milk into curd. "You're developing quite the reputation as a fool. It's hardly befitting to one of the Prince's men." She removed her arm from his grasp and stalked away from the orchard before he could utter another word.

Beatrice pressed her hands to her cheeks as she strode back towards the house, unsure if she was trying to halt the trembling in her hands or the burning in her skin. She could still feel Benedick's hand upon her breast, and in spite of her indignation that Benedick would act as if she were a common strumpet, free to do as she pleased and be tossed a ducat afterwards...well. That ladies were not allowed to act upon their desires hardly meant that they stopped having them. Beatrice's private feelings on such matters did not change them.

Beatrice was so deeply wrapped in such troubling thoughts that she felt her feet leave the ground as a rough and grimy hand was suddenly shoved into her face. A startled yelp exited her mouth as a man's voice cried, "Halt, in the name of the Prince!"

"Don Pedro is twenty leagues away," Beatrice said when she was able to get her breath back. It was difficult to assume a mantle of haughty dignity when she had just squealed as though seeing a mouse run across her shoe, but she would try.

"A noble man always has a long reach," the man said. Beatrice now recognized him as the leader of the Watch, the one who had an incessant tendency to tug at his forelock as he spoke and who did not bathe nearly often enough for the comfort of those around him. He was a good man, but not one that Beatrice cared to spend a great deal of time around. Especially not on nights such as these when it would seem as if he had been indulging himself on a great deal of wine and pungent cheese. "The Prince longer than anyone else. He's a propitious man."

"If what you say were true, we should be ruled be an ape." Beatrice sighed and, reached out gingerly, guided the man's hand out of her face. "I am niece to Leonato, I live in his house. My business is none of yours." She saw his eyes flit to the trees behind her, where many a couple had been rumored to flit away for some privacy, and ordered her face to remain stony. She must always be wary of aspersions cast towards her honor at the same time that she must appear to be too innocent to understand what those aspersions could possibly mean; such was the life of a maid.

"Of course, of course." Dogberry dipped into a bow so low that it was nearly comical. He rose busily tugging at his forelock once more. "Commend me to your uncle if it should please you, lady. Tell him that he has a most perverted servant standing guard over his house."

Beatrice paused. "I shall tell him that a more sincere soldier could never be found," she said delicately before she stepped past him and into the house. Beatrice thought that she could feel eyes on her as she went, and she doubted very much that they belonged to Dogberry.

*

Beatrice awoke to the sound of women's voices chattering like magpies in the corridor. She sat up, rubbed at her eyes, and proceeded to poke at a sleepy Hero until her cousin rose so that they could both dress. The whispering did not cease as the two of them strode to breakfast, and Beatrice's curiosity began to be tinged with suspicion.

"I wonder at what could be making everyone's tongues gallop like challengers," she murmured to Hero. "If they don't rest soon, they'll lose their mounts and descend the house into quiet."

Hero shrugged and looked about her with eyes which were curious, but still possessed of none of Beatrice's burning *need*. "I like the quiet."

"That's because you're the oddest actor to ever set foot on a stage. Its' a wonder that you should even kick up your heels at a dance, rather than bidding the musicians to play something soft and low that suits your blood." The cousins rounded a corner and nearly ran into a cluster of young woman who had not seen them yet. Beatrice seized Hero by the wrist and dragged her behind a pillar before she could call out a greeting.

"What are you doing?" Hero asked in bewilderment before Beatrice silenced her with a finger laid quickly across her lips.

"I want to know what they're going to say," Beatrice replied. "No one ever tells me gossip."

"They don't talk to you because you *frighten them*," Hero said. Her only response was a sunny smile when Beatrice made a face at her.

Beatrice leaned around the pillar as far as she dared and listened hard as the bell-like tones of feminine voices continued. "Soldiers have always taken their women into the orchard," one of them said. "It's only a scandal if a bairn is raised out of it. Leonato has always turned a blind eye towards any other raising that may happen."

Beatrice cast an eye towards her cousin, wondering if Hero should be shooed away towards a less scandalous pursuit, and found instead that Hero could perform an admirable parroting of one of Beatrice's own irritated faces. "I'm not *that* young!" Hero said. She swatted Beatrice's arm away so that she could lean further around the pillar herself.

Well. Beatrice struggled to contain her grin as she returned to the task at hand. Her amusement soon faded, however, as the women continued speaking.

"Leonato turns a blind eye towards soldiers and their whores, you mean," the second woman corrected the first. "She's well-born, and he's telling anyone who will listen how easily her wealth can be purchased."

The first woman made a snorting sound that could have been a suppressed laugh and said, "Amelia, that's cruel."

Amelia was not a soul who found herself naturally inclined to sympathy. "She knew what was at stake when she laid her wager."

There was a soft patter as the women's footsteps moved further down the hall. Beatrice scarcely heard them, any more than she felt Hero's steadying hand upon her arm. "Cousin, are you ill?" Hero asked. "You look as if you've turned into your ghost."

Beatrice shook away Hero's arm and then found that she was obliged to put her hand against the wall again so that she would not take an unferocious tumble all the way down to the floor. There were colts in the stable whose legs were steadier than hers were at the moment. "Stay a maid, Hero," she heard herself claim. "In deed and reputation, stay a maid, until whispers of love start floating around your door. Then you may become a soldier and kill the interloper where he stands."

Hero put her hand over her mouth, aghast, as realization dawned on her. "Beatrice," she said, "were they-?"

"Kill it where it stands," Beatrice repeated grimly. "Show no mercy, and you shall be the happier for it." Beatrice left her cousin and stormed down the hallway. She stopped for no one, not trusting herself to speak if she should have to face their smug looks, or worse, her uncle's shattered one. She was undone. She was undone.

One of Dogberry's men was the one who had the misfortune to halt Beatrice first, standing as he was by the gate. One look at her face, and he immediately assumed an expression as if he wished that he had a shield with him.

"Away," Beatrice said shortly as she continued down the path to the stables.

"There are soldiers down there, m'lady," he ventured to her back. "There will hardly be talk for reptilian ears. It's no place for a woman."

"And I'm going to make sure that it's no place for a man, either," Beatrice said without breaking her stride.

She smelled and heard the horses long before she came across them. Beatrice took a deep breath and curled her hands into fists. It was only natural; the man that she sought did nothing but trumpet, it would seem, and his words carried an unmistakable tinge of dung.

The bawdy soldiers' songs and jokes ceased as soon as Beatrice came into view. Yes, she was quite sure that her kind and their particular apples were a rare sight around here. It was unseemly.

Beatrice could trade a horse's ass-and the equine's, too-about anything unseemly at the moment.

"Don't stop on account of me, lads," Beatrice said in a tone of cheer that she did not feel. Her voice sounded brittle to her ears; if she curled her hands any harder into fists she was going to leave drops of her own blood behind in the horse's dust. "I'm quite sure that I know what you were discussing, all the same."

The small crowd parted, and admitted the object of Beatrice's mingled feelings. He was leading a horse by its bridle, and both animal and man were glistening with a light layer of healthy sweat. There was a flush of color standing high in Benedick's cheeks; his eyes had a gleam in them that would turn any woman's head before she knew better. They lit up even further once he caught sight of Beatrice. God's blood, but even after knowing better she still felt a series of unmaidenly sensations beginning to overtake her.

"Beatrice," Benedick greeted her with a smile. "And who am I meeting today, the lady or the wildcat?" The horse that he was holding began to roll its eyes and shy to the side, either from Benedick's raised voice or from the waves of pure fury which were rolling from Beatrice. If it was the latter, then the animal was much wiser than its master. Benedick was still looking at Beatrice as if he expected a repeat of the previous night's festivities to occur right there in front of the soldiers that he wanted so desperately to impress.

Beatrice wished that she could strike Benedick so hard that his entire face would go sliding off and into the dust at his horse's feet. As it was, she would call herself satisfied if she could knock off that look. There was a satisfying cracking sound as Beatrice's hand struck Benedick's cheek, hard enough to send his head to one side and to make Beatrice's palm burn.

Benedick laid his hand against his face and stared at Beatrice with wild eyes. "The wildcat, then," he said slowly. "Lady, did Morpheus wrong you while wearing my face?"

"You bastard," Beatrice gritted at him from between clenched teeth. She did not care abut the curious eyes, human or otherwise, which ringed them on all side. The blood was flowing hot in Beatrice's face, and it was not nearly as pleasurable as it had been the night before. "How dare you? How *dare* you?"

A soldier sniggered and made his horse dance in an anxious circle. "You've accomplished a rare feat, Benedick," he called out in a joking tone. The glare that Beatrice immediately swung around and directed his way was not nearly as quailing as she had hoped. "There's not a bit in this stable strong enough to curb her tongue."

"I'll be more proud of my accomplishment once I discover how it came about," Benedick muttered. He took Beatrice by the elbow and, when she made as if to shake him off, answered, "I'm certain that your ladyship will find my hide more tender by far once it understands why you are sinking your teeth into it."

Beatrice scarcely allowed Benedick to lead her into the relative peace of the stables before she whirled away from him. The red mark that still stood out on his cheek did nothing to cool the thoughts of war that continued to travel through her mind, not matter how stunned she might be by their vehemence. This man. Beatrice had never known herself to have such a visceral reaction to another person before.

"I'm your ladyship now, am I?" Beatrice countered furiously, and only barely kept her lip from curling into an unbecoming sneer as she did so. "A curious title, given what you have been saying of me across the entirety of Leonato's estate this morning. Or is every woman who parts her thighs for your gold a lady until the sun rises?"

Benedick's face was blank of comprehension. "I'm beginning to think that you have a different humor for every occasion, and that this one is quite made," he said. "Beatrice, what has happened?"

It was all that Beatrice could do not to fly at him again. "All that a woman has is her reputation!" she nearly screamed at him. Several horses began to whinny and bang about in their stalls. "You take that away, and she has nothing left! *Nothing*!"

The red mark was not fading from Benedick's cheek; rather, the rest of his complexion was darkening to match it. "Beatrice," he told her in a low voice, "I said not a word. Not to a soul. I swear on both of our honors."

"My honor is worth dung in these stalls," Beatrice shot back at him. "And for you dungy would be a step back towards heaven, you lack-witted, empty-mouthed excuse for a man. I pity the prince who depends upon the prowess of your sword." The final word was said in a sneer.

Benedick's eyes darkened, and the hand that he had been extending towards Beatrice fell back towards his side. "Don't worry, sweet Beatrice," he said. His mouth was twisting in a cruel way that Beatrice had never seen before. "Whichever humor is controlling your fury on a day, you need never fear acquaintance with my sword."

"A pity, as I have already paid for it." Beatrice pulled her skirts up around her calves so that she would be able to take the full strides that her temper demanded and spun away. There was no sense in worrying about the modesty of her ankles when most of Leonato's household was already gossiping about her thighs.

The soldiers were hooting about something amongst themselves as Beatrice crossed the courtyard. She bit her tongue to the point of blood so that she would not speak and ignored the way that the mud in the stable yard was trying to seep over the tops of her slippers.

With her skirts kept relatively clean, Beatrice was able to slip her shoes off once she had made it indoors and walk barefoot without being noticed. She was still breathing hard, and her blood was a roaring sound in her ears. When the voice called out, "Niece," from behind her, she jumped and dropped her slippers to the floor. They made a wet slapping sound and left ugly marks.

"Uncle," Beatrice said as she turned and greeted Leonato with a dip of her head and a smile that probably looked as if it had died before crossing her face. In all likelihood she ought to have curtsied, but Leonato had nearly raised her and they were long past such formalities. Beatrice wondered if they would soon be brought to them again.

Leonato sighed as he reached out and took her arm in his own. His face was lined and sad, but Beatrice did not sense that it was directed at her, and a line drew itself between her eyes. The hand on her arm patted soothingly.

"It's a terrible thing when a man does not know what is taking place in his own household," Leonato said.

Though Beatrice's heart seized, she said in a wry tone, "I imagine that many men would take great solace in their ignorance."

Leonato chuckled. "Young men delight in their follies," he said. "Old men know better."

"Hmm," Beatrice said, sensing danger but still unsure as to which direction she ought to be looking. She and her uncle rounded a corner in the hall.

A young lady that Beatrice did not recognize was weeping in the hall, flanked on either side by an angry man old enough to be her father and a younger man who was finding that his boots were the most fascinating thing in the world. Beatrice's breath caught in her throat.

"A reputation is a precious thing to safeguard, Beatrice," her uncle said in a low voice. Beatrice suddenly wondered if there was anything that went on in his house beneath his notice. "It does not matter what the truth is when it comes to a woman's worth, only what the least of men will believe."

"It matters," Beatrice said, her tone suddenly fervent. She thought, 'I am a fool, a fool, a fool.' "To the right sort it matters, and devil take the rest of them."

Leonato made a shocked, exasperated noise. "I'll warrant that he has a fairer chance of catching you in the bargain," he said, but Beatrice had already knelt to scoop up her sodden slippers and was running down the hallway again. She rounded a corner and nearly ran into her cousin instead, who was sitting by a patch of sunlight coming through a window and picking at a piece of needlework. It was an art that Beatrice had never had the patience to master.

"He's gone," Hero said in a sedate tone as Beatrice skidded past.

Beatrice stopped, stifling an oath as her wet feet slid over the stone, and doubled back. "How do you mean?" she demanded even as her mind thought over the whispers of war that had been circulating. They would be leaving soon, undoubtedly, but surely not today. Not without a send-off.

"With the other men," Hero clarified, "on a hunt. They hope to return by sundown, for Don Pedro will leaving with everyone willing to fight by his side in the morning." Beatrice's heart fell to the bottom of her ribs. So the hunt was to be their grand farewell, then. She nearly missed it as her cousin's look turned sly, and Hero said, "They will be returning with all measure of appetites, and only a few hours with which to sate them before they must be away again."

"Hero!" Beatrice exclaimed, unsure if she was scandalized or delighted. "You are a child!"

Hero picked at a final stitch on her embroidery before tying a knot and snapping the thread. "I meant for food, cousin," she said in a sweet tone. "The cook was wagering that she would have to work for an extra three hours for Benedick's stomach alone. Whatever did you suppose I was speaking of?"

"You are a foul wretch disguised as an innocent young girl," Beatrice said as she took a seat next to Hero on the bench. She stared out into the churned dust of the courtyard. Plumes of it were still settling; they must have left moments before.

"If you keep my secret, I will endeavor to keep yours." Hero began to pick at her embroidery again. There was a small smile playing about the edges of her mouth as a reminder to Beatrice that, while her cousin might not be of an age where she ought to begin addressing her prospects for marriage, it was surely on the horizon.

"I do not plan to keep mine a secret for long," Beatrice said as she continued to watch the dust drift down again.

*

The men returned shortly before sundown, bearing the several stags that they had promised and hungry enough to eat the meat raw in the courtyard if dinner had not already been prepared and waiting for them. The meat would be left behind as thanks to Leonato for his generous hospitality; the hunt had been so that the men could enjoy themselves before a long stretch of time in which there would be very little in the way of enjoyment. Most of them left their horses in the hands of the boys and the deer in the hands of the cooking staff while they themselves went to wash. Beatrice lingered outside of the kitchens, watched the poor butchered animals as they were hung up for their skins to be pulled away from their flesh, and thought that she understood how the deer felt. Apologies had never been her strong suit.

It was to the orchard that Beatrice strode in order to compose her thoughts before she went to dinner, for she was sure that it would be a grim and torturous affair. Benedick, she sure, would not be the type to turn his arrows to the side when he was certain that his target was close to being brought to the ground. Beatrice had little doubt that she would behave in the same way, were she in his position. She grit her teeth and supposed that she would have to find a smith who could make her a suit of armor both strong and invisible in the handful of moments before the sun sank below the horizon, or else simply resign herself to suffering through it.

From behind an apple tree there came the sound of shifting bodies, a masculine murmuring, and a distinctly feminine giggle of assent. Beatrice froze and felt a momentary flush of color filling her cheeks. As much as these trees had seen, it was small wonder that the apples should be so red.

Pausing and staring hard at the tree until she was certain that she was not going to see aspects of her kinsmen that she would not so easily be able to forget, Beatrice called out in a dry tone, "They will begin serving the wine in moments. If you don't think that it will slake your other thirst overmuch, it may do you well to go inside."

The feminine giggle became a startled yelp, and the couple sprang apart so that Beatrice could at least see who they might be. The blood that had been suffusing her face at once vanished, leaving her feeling very cold instead.

Women held onto their honor with a warrior's grip because it was in the end all that they had. Men traded it away as if it were nothing at all, because they were so convinced that they could gain it back again by being suitably valiant the next day.

Benedick looked briefly shocked to see Beatrice standing there, but he covered it quickly. His golden-haired companion, meanwhile, appeared mortified enough to make do for both of them. She was not the same blonde who had been weeping between her angry father and her abashed suitor earlier, Beatrice noted; beyond that, all of the distinguishing features of the woman's face flew right past her.

"Oh," Beatrice managed in a faint voice. "I see that I am not the only warrior present. You manage a fair deal of slaying yourself."

Something flashed in Benedick's eyes, gone again too quickly for Beatrice to capture it. He put his arm about the waist of his companion, who was looking more with every moment as if she were wishing that she had gone in to dinner early. "You abused my reputation so fiercely, Beatrice," he told her in a smooth tone, "I thought that it was only right that I should live up to my name. Otherwise, people may well begin to jump at shadows, thinking that they were me, and nothing within your uncle's household would ever be done."

Beatrice felt her lips curving. She only hoped that the smile matched the cruelty that she felt surging up inside of her. "I only hope that you can apply that same ferocity to the battlefield," she said. "For I fear that I could eat all of your killings otherwise and still walk away with an unsatisfied stomach."

Benedick leaned close and whispered, in a voice that brought to mind the last time that they had been in this orchard, "It is my deepest wish that I should leave behind me a satisfied lady, so perhaps it is best that we should part ways."

"You are an arrogant pig," Beatrice snapped at him.

"And you are an ill-tempered shrew," Benedick countered. "Think of the children that we would create. They should hardly be people at all."

Beatrice whirled away with a sneer and strode back towards the house with her head held high enough to make her shoulders ache. Though tears pricked at her eyes, she did not raise her hand in order to dab at them. Not while there was still a chance, however small, that Benedick was watching her rather than losing himself in other dalliances.

"Beatrice?" Hero asked upon catching sight of her cousin once she was back inside. Her voice was tremulous, her eyes wide. For all that she played at being a woman, Hero was still much too young to understand.

Beatrice paused, remembering how she had entreated Hero to kill love where it stood. She refused to call the soft feeling within her love, or admit that it ever could have become such. Not to such a man as that.

"Better to remain a maid," Beatrice muttered to herself, and never mind that she was leaving a supremely baffled cousin behind her. Hero could likely count on a single hand the number of times that she had ever seen Beatrice speechless.

Yes, far better to remain a maid. She would lead apes into hell with a gladness if that was what it came to; she knew exactly which ape would be taking the lead. Beatrice walked stiffly down the hallway and did not look back.

End

 


End file.
